Bound Hearts, Frayed Knotts
by Wolf in She's Clothing
Summary: This is my first FF, Supernatural, and Alpha Omega-verse. Alpha Dean works undercover for Omega Protection and Recovery, his profession chosen as a result of past traumas his omega brother, Sam, endured. What happens when on a raid, Dean finds himself experiencing a soul tie with broken omega Castiel? Blind Sam. Human (perhaps), teen Castiel. Slash, Mpreg, Angst. M for content.


**This is my first supernatural fic and my first foray in to the Alpha/Omega-verse. Hope you find the exploration promising.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, no copyright infringement is intended in the production of this story.**

** Bound Hearts, ****Frayed Knotts**

**Chapter One**

* * *

Thin shoulders tensed as he held his position by the door to his kennel. His ears strained for sound of heavy footsteps out in the hall. Although there were no clocks visible, he instinctively knew the time and had hurried to kneel in position fifteen minutes ago, just in case his keeper was early.

As always his heartbeat accelerated when the muffled sound of boots against concrete at last permeated the door to the cell. He absently rubbed his midriff in an act of self-soothing. His eyes blurred as he held his focus on a spot six inches in front of him on the floor. Even though he expected it, he was hard pressed not to jump when the bolt was slammed open and the thick door cracked.

Outside the dim fluorescents flickered, painting the grey walls a melancholic blue.

"Okay, 97… Up. I haven't got all day!"

Even though he had not hesitated to obey, knees stiff from never-ending kneeling, he was still not fast enough. Thick fingers knotted into his dark hair, pulling him up.

Noting the dust on the man's boots and faded denims, he supposed this Shepherd had recently been out in the gardens, most likely overseeing the empty omegas in their tending. He remembered when he'd first arrived at the Deacon's hold; he'd worked five seasons amidst the rows. The smell of earth and sky, of growth, the feel of a breeze or the sun on his skin, these were memories he visited often in his lonely cell.

Sometimes when the Shepherds came in from outdoors they carried these nostalgic scents with them, but not today. His nose had been assaulted by the Alpha's pungent aroma the moment the seal to his door had been breached. It was one he knew and was wisely fearful of.

Lifted now to his feet, he cringed when the big man before him leaned in and began hungrily scenting his bared neck. In his current condition his keen nose was even more sensitive and the closeness of his afternoon's Shepherd made him want to gag. The man smelled of swamp moss and rotting wood, of stagnant pools crusted with algae. Swallowing hard he tried to keep down the bile he felt rising in his throat.

"What no warm greeting for me, 97?" The Alpha's low voice growled. He'd noted the subtle turn of the boy's head to the side as if to get away. Strong fingers stayed clamped into the rich brown-almost black curls, holding, as his other hand slapped the omega's face. Despite his upset, the blow was measured: hard enough to hurt, soft enough to leave no more than a lingering blush on the pale cheek.

Tear's filled the teen's blue eyes, both at the sting and the shame that filled him. He was being a bad omega. The Alpha was here to take him out for his exercise, he should be grateful, wiggling with excitement, peppering this Shepherd's hands with kisses. Instead, he was just standing there, actively resisting his attentions. It didn't matter that he was doing so because the man's scent sickened him and he was struggling to keep his rebellious stomach under control.

"Please, Alpha…" The words were exhaled on a shaky breath. The youth kept his eyes down, not daring to even try to catch a glimpse of the face looming above from beneath his thick lashes. Not that he needed to, he could feel the barely restrained irritation, scent the oily musk of the Alpha's desire to hurt him.

A whimper designed to placate, escaped him.

He was not as worried today, however, as he would have been other times. It was a small but significant comfort to know that the Alpha, _Azazel_ the other Shepherd's called him, wouldn't hurt him too badly, not since he'd been bred. Lifting a hand from where it dangled submissively at his side, he cupped a palm protectively over his belly.

At least the Alphas weren't supposed to be rough now, though sometimes, despite the Deacon's warnings, Shepherds ravaged their omega flock anyways, this one in particular. As if to illustrate this point, the fingers tangled in his dark mane tightened and jerked.

New tears filled omega eyes at the sudden burn of his scalp. An earlobe was nipped harshly and the Alpha hissed with ripe breath into his ear.

"_Please_ is a good start, 97. Go on…"

"P-please, Alpha… forgive…"

Blue eyes widened and the boy's breath caught when his warden nipped him again, hard, in response, this time on the side of his neck. He trembled and stuttered.

"T-thank you; omega is not w-worthy."

Chills shivered up his spine at the low chuckle the Alpha offered in reply to this rote recitation.

"No, you're not! So be grateful I feel like honoring you with my attentions!"

A thick tongue swept up the slap-pinked cheek. The boy did his best not to shudder at the sensation. While a meeting of mouths with an omega was below most Shepherds, he knew too well that this one favored the transgression. The Alpha's tongue continued its trek, leaving behind a glistening trail of thick spit. He tried to make himself pliant when the tongue retracted and the stubbled face leaned in. His head was pulled back by the hand in his hair while the Alpha's other suddenly seized his jaw. He knew that the Shepherd intended to attack his lips. He could imagine the greasy, swamp-slick tongue opening him up.

It pleased Azazel to feel the lean body in his hands slip into an even more subdued state. A grin split his face when plush pink lips parted slightly, in what he anticipated, was eagerness for a Better's blessing of touch.

"Good boy."

The smile was lost in an instant, however, when youth's head spasmed in his hands and the acrid smell of bile filled the air as vomit spewed from 97's mouth.

In an instant the boy was on his knees, pushed away hard in disgust.

"What the… You stupid, worthless, omega bitch!"

"S-sorry… P-please Alpha… Litter-sickness… P-please forgive." Each word was gasped out between retches as the slight omega curled in on himself, shielding his swelling midsection in case the Alpha decided to lash out with a kick. While he'd steeled himself for the anticipated blow, the boy had not braced himself for the Alpha's cruel words.

"I can see why your family dumped you on the Deacon's doorstep! Ridding themselves of offal like you; that act alone might be enough to get their names on the white tablets."

Azazel sneered continuing his verbal attack, "You'd think with as many times as you've whelped, you'd be past this sort of sorriness!". "What a foul omega you must be for Spirit to make your bearing so troubled. I am amazed Creator would even allow pure Alpha seed to take root in a vessel as irredeemable!"

Their leader, Deacon Cowley required all omegas in the compound to attend scripture sessions as part of learning their place, though Azazel thought the notion dangerously liberal and a waste. As far as he was concerned, omegas were less than animals, just a few functions above brainless and he doubted that the crumpled boy now brokenly sobbing at his feet even comprehended half of what he was had just said. But there was no doubt the omega understood his tone and could smell his disgust.

A wicked grin split Azazel's crude face. Since the bitch was bearing he couldn't properly chastise him for his transgression, but on the off chance 97 did have any kind of comprehension there were other ways to inflict damage.

"No wonder Deacon Crowley takes your pups as soon as your sorry omega slit spits them out! Who the hell would let any innocent remain in such a corrupt presence?"

Though he tried to hold it back, a low keening cry built in the pregnant omega's throat. The Deacon had told him that if he was good, he might be able to keep this pup with him, at least until it was designated. There was no way now this would ever happen, Alpha Azazel would tell on him. Not that he'd need to: the Deacon knew everything.

"Speaking of the Deacon you better cut out that sniveling and get up. He wants to see you after your exercises." Azazel was pleased to note his omega charge stopped crying almost immediately at these words, nor was he blind to how the youth's lean frame began to tremor.

This reaction didn't surprise him in the least. He knew he had nothing on Crowley when it came to maintaining discipline in the flock. The Deacon was also the only one on the compound allowed to fully use a pregnant omega. Chosen by Spirit as he was, if an omega miscarried after Crowley's attentions, it meant the vessel had been tainted and the pup shouldn't be allowed to see light anyways. Although Azazel doubted that Crowley would deign to enter 97, since the omega had been bred by an Alpha outside the compound. In fact, he couldn't remember 97 ever carrying a pup for the Brethren.

He was jarred from these thoughts when shakily his omega charge rose; the boy making sure to keep his head down, his shoulders bowed.

"We're late for your PT; so you can clean your mess later. Remember, your vessel belongs to your Betters. All you have to do is keep it pleasing and producing. You don't want to add a fat ass to your long list of sins, do you?"

The Alpha's chuckle at his own witty remark drifted into a snort of disgust when 97 remained silent. "Why I waste my good humor…"

Reaching into his jean pocket, Azazel pulled out a lead and clipped this to the collar on the same ring that bore the tag indicating the omega's flock number. Once secured, he gave the leash a sharp tug.

"Come. I forgive. For now." Azazel smirked and grabbed his crotch. "You can do your penance later."

Breeding a pregnant omega's ass might be forbidden to him, but that didn't mean he couldn't bless the boy's mouth with his seed. And what a mouth 97 had. Even better, he knew that with the omega's litter-sickness, he'd be in his rights for pushing the limits of punishment if the boy couldn't keep his spend down: it was a significant sin for an omega to spill any Alpha seed.

"What do you say, omega?"

Although his head was down, the Shepherd's crude gesture had not gone unnoticed and despite Azazel's thoughts on omega intelligence, 97 had understood every word. He had simply learned long ago that there was safety in pretending simplicity: no one liked a smart omega.

"Thank you, Alpha."

His words were correct, but there was no life in them. The Shepherd's taunts had torn through the curtain of fantasy that he'd been nurturing and he realized now that his arms would never hold the new pup growing within him, his fifth in seven years. He dipped his head lower as a different sort of sickness took hold of him. His empty arms shifted, slipping behind his back and he clasped his hands together in the perfect posture of submission.

With a grunt of approval, Azazel turned sharply on his booted heels. Another hard jerk on the lead had the young omega following dispiritedly after.

* * *

Dean's manicured hand idly spun the two fingers of aged scotch that had been set out for him five minutes prior. The bar was relatively crowded with office and young executive types catching a drink after working into the evening, and those, like him, who were waiting for their table to open in the busy restaurant next door. Dean could only imagine the scents swirling in the air of this swinging locale.

Despite the crowd, the stool next to him where he sat at the end of the counter remained open. His strong alpha energy emitted a discernible "don't bother me vibe," that outside a few longing looks from seeking beta's and even one obvious omega, had managed to keep most of the bar's other patron's away.

"Whiskey sour."

Green eyes shifted over and he watched another alpha slip onto the seat beside him. In his rumpled suit and heavy beard the guy looked out of place amidst the teems of upwardly-mobile twenty and thirty-somethings that populated the trendy watering hole.

"You're feeling brave, Old Man."

"It'll take more than a five-hundred dollar suit and a snarl to intimidate me, Young Blood." The older Alpha snorted.

A smile twisted Dean's lips for the first time that evening. "Good to see you, Bobby." He held out his hand.

Bobby took it, his grip holding its usual warmth and strength. "Nice to see you too. It's been a while."

To an outside observer, the exchange would look like just two guys, casually meeting, the kind of thing that happened in bars a million times a night.

Bobby turned around and set his elbows on the bar, his eyes making what he hoped would be interpreted as the standard alpha sweep of a new space.

"Wow, you get to hang out in places like this all the time? Must be rough for a country boy like you: all this fanciness!"

"This is nothing," Dean brought his glass to his lips and swallowed. The burn of the scotch wasn't nearly as pleasing, knowing that he popped two alcohol arrestors in the cab before coming in.

"You should see the place I'm having dinner." He motioned to the door that connected the bar to restaurant next door. "The price will break your wallet, the portions'll fit in your breast pocket, and service is rated by how rude the waiters are. Do you know how many pizzas I could order and get delivered with a smile for what they charge at that place?"

"Nice to know your promotion hasn't been all perks then." Bobby settled in after his eyes found nothing in the immediate surroundings to cause concern. "I was worried I might start feeling jealous."

"You know I'd trade places with you any day... I miss the unit."

Looking over, Bobby met Dean's eyes. "Feeling's mutual, Young Blood."

In the three year's he'd been deep undercover and away from the team, Dean noted that the older alpha's face had acquired more lines, marks etched both by the stress of the job and by the terrible things that he saw every day as the head of the FBI's Omega Protection and Recovery Program. He wondered how his own face looked now too in comparison to when he'd started this gig. What he'd seen and done had been miles far from easy.

Even so, Dean felt a familiar guilt rise inside him, though he knew the three years were necessary. Then one guilt beget another and even though he'd promised himself he wouldn't ask, the question spilled out of him.

"You seen Sammy lately?"

Turning back to the bar, Bobby picked up his drink and swirled it around thoughtfully.

"That's not the kind of thing you should be thinking about. Not with what's about to go down in a couple hours."

After taking a deep draught of the whiskey, Bobby turned back. He shook his head. The kid might be able to keep his features schooled enough for deep cover, but when it came to Sam, Dean was an open book. He could tell at once that Winchester had misinterpreted his response, thinking that there was something wrong with his brother and not that he'd been concerned with Dean's focus in light of tonight's precarious operation.

"Sam's fine." Bobby murmured at last. "Saw him just last week in fact." He sighed silently seeing the stiffness suddenly leave Dean's shoulders.

"I promised you I'd look out for him while you were gone and I have. Sam cusses me out every time for bothering him with my weekly calls to the center; tells me he _doesn't need babysitting, he gets enough of that with the staff_."

A light smile curled the corner of Dean's lips. "Sounds like him. They haven't threatened to throw him out again lately have they?"

Bobby smiled back. "Nah. But every time they get a new doc at that place they want to have him put through the designation process again, just to make sure he's really an omega."

At the word "omega" both men frowned. Both were of the mind that classifying people on the base of their biology was atrocious and antiquated. And each man had omegas in their lives who had suffered immensely for nothing more than the random throw of genetics' die. It was being witness to this that had brought them together in the effort to do what they could to prevent other omegas from experiencing the same terrible kinds of abuse. But unfortunately while things had improved over the last decade in most states and being an omega had certainly shifted in status in many ways, there was still way too much to be done.

It had been one of the hardest decision's in Dean's life to agree to take on the assignment that would hopefully come to its conclusion later tonight. Knowing that he'd have no contact at all with Sam for three years would have been unbearable without Bobby's assurance he'd keep tabs on him. But after what Sam had been through, there was also no way that Dean could have rightfully brought himself to turn down the opportunity to take on this particular job. Dean's mind flashed back, to what his baby brother had been reduced to when he'd finally found him.

_No, I can't go there now._

Steering his mind from the past and back to the present was a skill that Dean had worked hard to master. Now, he just wanted tonight to be over; maybe take a little time off after; re-connect with Sammy again. He could feel the instinctive alpha protectiveness he'd always carried for Sam tight in his gut.

"Everything ready?" Dean downed the last of his scotch and straightened.

"Locked, cocked, and ready to rock, as the young guys like to say," Bobby growled. "Though I wish to hell you were going in with a weapon. Just having us hanging out like that Dean, waiting…"

Dean shook his head. They both knew that these guys were big time and thorough. Any weapon found on him would only end up with him dead and the whole mission, his three years and the rest of all the teams' work, down the shitter for nothing.

Bobby nodded, but his expression was grim. There was nothing more to say.

Dean watched as the older man reached into his breast pocket and withdrew his billfold. With impressive skill Bobby pulled out a bill to hand to the bartender, managing at the same time to slip a thin white packet under the napkin his glass had been set on.

Noticing his dinner date had shown up at the bar's entrance and was scanning the crowd for him, Dean made a show of setting his glass down on Bobby's napkin and pulling out his own wallet. He pushed Bobby's extended twenty aside. "Let me get that drink for you, Old-timer."

Bobby too had seen the target. He set his glass down on the polished wood and pushed himself away from the bar. "Nice to know a pure alpha like yourself still has manners enough to respect his elders. Thanks." He gave Dean a curt nod and headed off into the crowd moving in the direction of the men's room.

Dean turned back to the bar and swept the napkin, and what was under it, into his suit's breast pocket along with his wallet. He ordered another scotch before looking back and catching his dinner companion's eye with a wave of his fingers.

His new drink arrived on the bar before him at the same time as his low alpha contact drew up alongside.

"Tanner." He greeted. "Took you long enough. I thought you'd backed out and neglected to call me." Despite the light rebuff in his tone, Dean gave the man a bright smile and a handshake, though in truth, Duane Tanner and all he stood for made his skin crawl.

"Hamilton," Tanner greeted back addressing Dean by his alias. His manner was reserved, as always. "Traffic. What can I say?" He cocked his head towards the open door that lead into the restaurant. "Ready for our dinner meeting?"

Dean widened his grin, turning on his all-American Alpha charm.

"Yeah, let's go. I'm starving." He bent and picked up the briefcase that had been sitting at the floor by his feet and patted the rich leather. "But even more than dinner, I'm really interested to see what you might have on the menu for dessert."

* * *

**Thank you for reading and your reviews and feedback is much appreciated.**


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